


the call.

by dames_for_jamesbarnes



Series: i stole your heart (and broke it, too) [6]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Ocean's Eleven Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Canon-Typical Behavior, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29832183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dames_for_jamesbarnes/pseuds/dames_for_jamesbarnes
Summary: aaron feels the fist connect with his stomach just as the door to his holding room flies open.he coughs, shaking his head, even though there’s nothing to clear. he can see shiny leather shoes in the corner of his eye, ahead of two pairs of boots, but gives himself a moment to catch some air before saying anything.“foyet,” he mutters. swallows. clears his throat, so it can echo in the room. “george. how was the match?”
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Reader, George Foyet/Reader
Series: i stole your heart (and broke it, too) [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931206
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	the call.

aaron feels the fist connect with his stomach just as the door to his holding room flies open.

he coughs, shaking his head, even though there’s nothing to clear. he can see shiny leather shoes in the corner of his eye, ahead of two pairs of boots, but gives himself a moment to catch some air before saying anything.

“foyet,” he mutters. swallows. clears his throat, so it can echo in the room. “george. how was the match?”

he doesn’t lift up on his own. refuses to, with the pettiest part of himself. if foyet wants to look him in the eye, he’ll need to work for it.

“let’s get up, aaron,” the man says tightly, and aaron has to fight a smirk again as he’s lifted by some extra muscle.

aaron groans with it. some added effect, shakes his head, pops his neck. he looks a mess, he knows, hair usually so carefully styled a mess on his head, something smudged on his cheek, sweat on his brow. but he still looks foyet in the eye, lifts his chin because he can.

“was this you?” foyet asks. he’s standing tall, hands on his hips, and he pushes on his toes as he looks at aaron, to match his height, to really look him in the eye.

“was _what_ me, foyet?” aaron asks, coughing again. catching his breath.

there’s something burning in foyet’s gaze, something dangerous, a challenge that aaron meets with a single raised brow. the man takes a step closer, so that they’re almost nose to nose. “i won’t ask you again, hotch. was this you?”

there’s an answer he’s looking for.

it’s one aaron can’t give.

“foyet,” aaron sighs out, gives his best look of exasperation through his heavy breaths. lifts his hands to gesture to the nearly empty room. to stephen, who’s been beating the snot out of him for a minute or two. “i have no idea what you’re talking about.”

there’s a beat. a pause. george foyet measures up aaron hotchner with a look, and crosses his arms over his chest.

and then he hums.

“all right,” he mutters. still measuring aaron up, still doing his best to read the unreadable. “fine. you didn’t have anything to do with it. so, then. i guess you’re free to go, then.”

the door opens. the hallway is stark. white. bright. aaron winces at it.

“show him out.”

-

your heels can’t click on carpet. instead, it’s a very light thunk you hear as you pace, your eyes on your hand as you chew lightly on a nail.

watch television. that’s what rossi had said. but something keeps you from flicking the tv on, something makes your hand drop from your mouth and wring in your other one.

oh, god. who are you kidding? you know what the something is. you know _who_ the something is. the same person who kisses your cheek to slide a phone into your pocket.

and george. you’re worried for him. even with the dismissal from before. something is happening, tonight, and you feel your chest tighten at the thought of something happening to both of the men –

no.

the man you care about. so… deeply.

you ignore the way that sentiment barely settles. shake your head. and then the phone rings, and you’re there, lifting the phone to your cheek.

“hello?”

it’s a cheery, bright voice, one who seems to delight in the development. “hello, darling. turn on the tv. channel 88.”

“who is this?” you shoot back. immediately. but just as soon as you say it, you know it’s moot. there’s no one else on the line, and you’re left with a choice.

it’s an easy one. you feel the remote calling to you, and your dress swishes around your ankles as you reach for it, lift it up, press the power button and 8-8 with sure fingers.

the picture is clear, but it’s not a tv show you’ve ever seen. your eyes narrow at the sight, because there, in front of you, are the two men on your mind, a hallway between them.

and all you can do is watch.

-

“what happened, foyet? someone rob you?”

it’s a taunt. it’s unlike aaron, the way it comes out, confident, cocky. his charisma is a silent one, but foyet doesn’t know him, no matter how much he pretends to in this moment.

“hold it” is what george says, and the two bodyguards stop, arms out to block aaron from going any farther.

on his heel, aaron turns, almost too ready for it. but it doesn’t matter, because that’s not what foyet sees. all foyet sees is his brow lifted on his head, the mild shock on his face from being told to stop so abruptly.

foyet crosses the hallway in long strides. it’s no time at all before the distance is closed again, with him looking up at aaron with that same calculating look.

“so. know something after all?” he asks, and aaron simply blinks. foyet scoffs at the look, but shakes his head. “one more chance, hotchner. did you have something to do with it?”

aaron lets his tiny smirk play this time, pairs it with narrowed eyes. “i could get you your money back. if that’s what you’re asking.”

he’s caught. foyet smiles, puts his hands on his hips.

“and if it is?”

“then you know the price.”

it’s left like that. in the air. because however much foyet thinks he knows, aaron gives it to him on a silver platter.

“your old flame,” foyet purrs, and the sound is nauseating. but aaron perseveres.

“what would you say? if that was the offer?”

there’s barely any hesitation. foyet just smiles.

“i’d say yes.”

-

it hits you like cold water, poured over your head. it soaks you, from head to toe, and you’re let almost gasping at it, a little opened mouthed as you stare at the television screen.

the offer had felt ridiculous. you’d almost scoffed at it, shaken your head, but george – he hadn’t blinked.

he hadn’t hesitated. 

he’s still standing there, after all. entertaining it. a smile that you’ve seen before, the smile he gets when he thinks he’s won. it makes your stomach churn, and you’re moving without thinking, without needing to think.

you grab your clutch. you put on your coat. you straighten and stand _tall_. and your steps carry you out the door, even as you hear aaron’s voice drone on, as you hear george’s sharp reply. it’s not real words to you, just background noise, as your heels finally get tile to click on, the elevator as you press the button down, down, down.

it’s aaron. it has to be. all of it, every last minute of it. but it doesn’t matter, in that moment. nothing else does but getting out of there.

the first floor arrives with a flourish, a gentle voice telling you so. the doors slide open, with ease, and your gaze lifts from your painted toe nails to the sight of george standing before you. he looks murderous, looks furious, and your presence only dims it somewhat. but he seems to get that your eyes don’t warm when you look at him, that you hand on your clutch tightens in a white-knuckled grip.

you feel weak, almost for a moment. but then you see something like realization on his face, something like recognition of the absolute _shit_ he said, and it’s oh, so easy to stalk past him.

he says your name. once, twice. intense, urging, but you only turn to meet his eyes, to give him a smirk that shows your teeth.

“you always tell me that in your hotel, someone’s always watching.” you can’t help your little empty laugh, the way you shake your head and turn away. “why did you think you’d be the exception, george?”


End file.
